


Champagne Flight

by Dillian



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Loki-Power Bottom, M/M, Maybe a Hint of Love in There, Pretend Unequal Relationship, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 16:19:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3535985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dillian/pseuds/Dillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the prompt:  "What story can you come up with, using this premise: a flight attendant drinking champagne in first class?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Champagne Flight

“Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away.  
Once I get you up there  
Where the air is rarefied,  
We'll just glide,  
Starry-eyed.  
Once I get you up there  
I'll be holding you so near,  
You may hear  
Angels cheer, 'cause we're together.”

 -- Frank Sinatra, “Come Fly with Me”

**_The Avengers_ ** **, _Iron Man_ , and _Thor_ , and all situations and characters thereof, belong strictly and solely to Marvel Comics.  This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.**

It is the most elaborate of their “scenes.”

Commercial flight, one of those big, generic planes, the ones you see but never go near.  Generic part of the airport, crowded throng of all kinds of people, and the security checkpoints you’ve got to go through, and the line you have to stand in before they let you board.  And the rows and rows of seats inside.  “Economy,” the stewardess says.  “You’re seated in First Class.”

Rows and rows of generic seating, just a little more spread out.  Generic people, coats, carry-on luggage.  Girl gives them the generic talk:  “Oxygen is here, vomit bags are there, such-and-such for a flotation device, and this is what you do in an emergency.”  Didn’t everyone learn this in Kindergarten?

And you have to have your seatbelt on, and then the wait before takeoff.  And eventually you can take off the belt.  Carts start rattling up and down aisles.  “Something to drink, sir?  Perhaps some pretzels?”

Dark, dark hair, shoulder-length.  “That’s not regulation hair,” you say.

Wicked sparkle of green eyes.  No answer, just, “Would you like something to drink, sir?”

Responding smile, curving your lips.  “I’d rather have the flight attendant.”

God, that nice little uniform on him.  Black pants, over an ass you know by touch, vest that defines the V of his chest, and that tie…  God, that tie…  The thought of undoing it _right now_ , _right here_.

Teasing look of condescension on his face.  “Would you like something to drink?  I do have other passengers to see to."

God that tie…  Thought of reaching up and grabbing it, thought of pulling him down, having him, _right here_.  “Champagne,” you say.  “Since you’re going to be boring.”

Loki’s eyes are a sparkle, like light on deep water.  “Trust me sir, if there’s one thing I never am, it’s _boring_.”

Champagne takes longer to come than it should.  Whole bottle, Bollinger, good year.  Scene or no scene, there’s no excuse for bad booze.  Two glasses; that’s what you asked for. Cork out before he brings it to you, the bottle foaming a little, like that little dribble of pre-cum that tells you he likes what you’re doing.  This is going to be fun.

“Will there be anything else?” Loki murmurs.

“Drink with me.”

God, those eyes.  You could get lost in those eyes.  And the evil, evil sparkle lighting them now. 

“Oh sir, you know it’s against regulations…”  And the demure way he looks down (but you can still hear the evil in his voice).  “…It would be more than my job’s worth.”

Your hand, against his long fingers (and the cold bottle underneath).  “Screw the job.”

“Oh sir,” he says, “I am just a helpless flight attendant, a cog in the system.”

“Cog.”  Where does he come up with this stuff? 

“Do you know who I am?”

Hooded green eyes (but still that wicked smile).  “Who, sir?”

“I’m Tony Stark, head of Stark Industries.”

“Oh, sir…”  People are looking now, but so what?  When did either of you ever care that there were people looking at you?

“Do as I say, or else.”

“Oh, sir…”

You’re hard already, god, you’re so hard.  And he sits down…  Edge of your armrest.  …Your arm goes out, wants to go around your waist, but all you do is pour two glasses of the wine.  Give one to him.  “Drink.”

“Oh, sir…”  Teeny-tiny glisten, of champagne on his upper lip.  You know what his mouth would taste like, the sour, prickly flavor of the wine, and underneath it the spice that says, “Loki”.  Green eyes, very large, and his voice, very low.  “Bathroom, Tony.  I want you so bad.  I want that cock of yours.  Now.”

You drink your wine, look at him.  “Bathroom?”

Loki, pouring two more glasses of wine, Loki, whose voice is dry and sparkling like the champagne.  “Bathroom, right now.  Because nothing gets me hot like the smell of cheap air freshener.”

Undertone-voice (the kind you put on because you know Pepper gets mad when you embarrass the company).  “Nothing gets me hot like you.”

Bathroom’s at the end of the aisle, and it smells just like Loki said it would.  And it’s cramped in there, it’s cramped like fuck.  No time to play around with this thing…  That asshole of Loki’s, that’s like a whole vacation, usually?  That you can spend hours with, just licking and fingering, until he’s begging you to do it?  Not here, not now.  This is a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am situation.  And you whip it out…

Loki, almost tender for once:  Finger running slowly, all along your length.  Finger, black-tipped…  That goddamn black polish he always has to wear.  “Any time, Stark, any time for you.”

…Loki, sounding almost surprised:  “You know I never thought I’d say that to a mortal?”

But this isn’t the time.  Cramped bathroom:  Your ass is against the door, his is up against the wall on the other side.  Sink’s jamming your elbow, you can feel the toilet right against your leg.  Low voice, urgent, “Save the hearts and flowers.  Tell me you want me.”

“I want you, Stark.”

“What do you want?”

“Your meat, your cock.  I want all of it.  My ass is begging for you, give it to me, now.”

And his ass is begging for it, and you go in there, and he slams back against you hard, takes you right up to the root.  And his hands are on himself, and he’s moaning, gasping a little, as he gets close to the edge.

God, it’s so good.  And the cramped little airplane bathroom.  And the smell of freshener, fake flowers covering up shit.  Feel of metal from that damn little sink, under your left hand, feel of that toilet, there against your leg.  And Loki’s moans, that turn into cries, that drown out your own cries a little.  And coming in him like that, and watching the jet when he comes himself.  And going down on your knees, licking him clean, your knees against that dirty bathroom floor, but it’s all part of it.  And you finish the wine together, out of the bottle, you take a drink, then he does, and back and forth.  And you go back to your seat, and he goes back to… wherever chaotic demigods go, when they’re finished pretending to be flight attendants.

Cost a hell of a lot to set that one up, but it was worth it, every penny.


End file.
